m.4r P SECOND PART." Hf I. . - .. THE PITTSBURG DISPATCH, ,31 PAGES 9 TO 16. PITTSBURG, SUNDAY, MAT 18, 1890. e SHORTHAND EXPERTS Stenographers "Who Beport Congressional Talk. ' SALARIES THEY COMMAND, Ken Who Caught the Words of Weh Bter, Clay and Calhoun. THE PEIYATE SECEETAEY'S DDTT rcoBxxsroscxxcx or im dispatch.! Washinqtox, May 17. Stenographers of the Home of Representatives, have been "ted nearly to death daring the past two weeks. The long winded discussions of the tariff haTe interspersed with the running fire of de bate and the fall corps of 5,000 men haTe been busy night and day. It is im possible to conceive the difficulty of re porting the House during such a dis cnssion. A half- dozen men are often D. F. Murphy, speaking at once and Blount, of Georgia, Cannon, of Illinois, Mills, of Texas, and McKinley, of Ohio, are often shouting at each other at the same time at the tops of their voices. The re porters take their note-books and rush into the melee and get every word as it is Uttered. One man is always on duty, and some times more. The reporters have desks di rectly in front of the Speaker and on a level with the House floor, and the work of re porting is done by relays. One will take notes say for 20 minutes, and he will then be relieved by another, while the first goes down to the transcribing room in the base ment of the Capitol and writes out his notes. Until very recently this transcribing was done by redictating the notes to another shorthand man, who in turn translated his notes and put them down on paper for the Congressional Record. Now the most of the stenographers use the graphophone. ONE OP THE BUSIEST PLACES. As soon as they leave the House they sit down before one of these little machines run by electricity and talk off their notes into it. An ordinary typewriter can take them from the craphophone and the expense of transcription is much less. The transcrib ing room is one of the busiest places of the CapitoL No talking is allowed in it, and the only sounds that are heard are the low but distinct tones of dictation and the rattle of the typewriter. There are five official reporters of the House, each of whom gets $5,000 a year, with the exception of the chief, John J. McElhone, who has a salary of 56.000. McElhone is one of the oldest and most efficient reporters of the United States. He waB the first man to report the House ver batim, and before he undertook it it was supposed to be impassible. H bad been a re porter in the Sen ate, and he con" traded for the re porting of the lower House in connection with John C. Hives, the founderof the Con grctsional Globe. This was in 1850, aud Mr. McElhone has bc:n reporting frrm that dnv to thi TTi U in J. J- -McElhone. beginning his forty-ninth session of Con gress, and he is more efficient to-day than he was 40 years ago. He has a curious way of working. He pays no attention to the mechanical part of his work, and his sys tem is the Pitman system in its simplest form. He is so thoroughly posted on legis lation and public questions that he knows what each man ought to say, and he keeps tip with the thought as he goes along. He criticises every sentence and his hand fol lows his brain like a piece ot machinery. AN ACCOMPLISHED GENIUS. He is one of the fastest thinkers among our public men, and he thinks as last as he writes. He is a man of fine literary cul ture, has studied law, and he has one of the finest private libraries of "Washington, in cluding many old and rare books. He was for a time a newspaper correspondent in connection with his reporting of the debates, and he wrote letters for a long time for the Philadelphia JVess. When Lewis Cass was Secretary of State under Buchanan he offered McElhone one of the foreign mis- Following a Speaker. sions, but be refused it, and he will proba bly remain in the harness as lone as he lives. McElhone can report equally well with both hands, and he often shifts his pencil from one hand to the other during a busy day of the House. He has a son of about 20, who is the youngest stenographer on the House side, and who promises to be as expert a reporter as his father. The five reporters are always on hand a few minutes before the meeting of the House. They -divide the work between them. Each one takes a column of the Record, and the man who gets the first as signment is seated in his desk at the time that the Speaker's gavel falls. From this time on he takes everything, from Chaplain Milbnrn's prayer to one of Congressman Hoi man's rasping speeches. He is respon siDle for an intelligent and accurate report f all that occurs and he must know every thing that is going on. Every sound that is uttered in the way of debate or in asides must fall upon the tympanum of his ear, and if he should miss a word he could not stop to recover it, in the necessity of keeping up with that which follows. THE EAPID SPEAKERS. The average speaking of both House and Senate is not over 150 wordsperminnte,bnt at times a member will shout out an avalanche oinew phrases at the rate of 200 words per minute, and there have been speakers who have uttered 225 words. Tom i? it. like a steam engine and his spasmodic Ut terances sometimes reach the 220-word limit Mills rattles out 175 wnrd nlnm. rc . fi3ff canvi C!V JKP ffitf J f Crilp, of Georgia, utters on the average 150 vords durine each 60 seconds, and Allen, of Mississippi, is another fast talker. Judge Holman talks slowly and deliberately, Mc Kinley has an unpleasant way of letting his voice fall at the end of every sentence and his concluding words are very indistinct. He does not speak fast, however, and in clines to pompous utterances. Joe Cannon speaks like lightning and so does General Henderson, of Iowa, when he is warmed up. Dalzell, of Pennsylvania, varies his speed from 150 to 175 words per minute, and Cheadle, of Indiana, gets through his speeches at all sorts of gaits. One of the fastest speakers of the past was Jim Belford, who was liable to break out at any time into oratorical pyrotechnics at the rateof200words per minute, and another was Sam Cox, whose wittiest utterances were spouted out at 200 words per minute. Some of the slow speakers are as hard to report as the fast ones, and the man who halts, stutters and stammers troubles the reporter as much as he who talks rightalong and speaks rapidly. The speaking of the House is much easier for the professional House stenographer than for a new man. There are scores of words which you will scarcely hear anywhere else ' and which occnr again and again. COLLEGE BEED MEN. The reporter must have a thorough knowl edge of parliamentary rules and he must understand the usages of the House. Nearly every one of the reporters is a college bred man, and most of them have been profes sional stenographers for years. David Wolf Brown, one of the most expert of the House stenographers, learned the art when he was 13, and he has been encaged in reporting Congress since 18G4. Another reporter, Mr. White, took up shorthand when he was a child, and Andrew Devine reported the Legislature at Albany beiore he came to re port Congress in '74. He was engaged in law reporting in New York for a long time, and he was one ofthereportcrs in the famous Beecher trial. It costs 8250,000 every year to get out the Using the Graphophone. daily newspaper ot Congress, known as the the Congressional Record, and a good, round part of this goes into the pay of the stenog raphers. The House has its fixed reporters, to whom it pays fixed salaries. The Senate lumps the job, and gives it to Dennis P. Murphy, who engages to furnish accurate reports of all that is done for $25,000 a year. The session of Congress lasts trom three to eight months, so you see that the pay is very fair. Out of this 525,000, however, Mr. Murphv has to hire his assistants, and he has under him some of the most efficient re porters of the country. His own connection with Congress is even longer than that of McElhone, and he began to report here in 1S48, and as a boy he was engaged in report ing the debates in the Senate in which Cal houn, Webster and Tom Benton partici pated. ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S ASSASSINATION. He reported the trial of Mrs. Surratt and the others who were implicated in the assas sination of Lincoln, and be has more curious reminiscences packed away in his little head than any other man intWashington. He be gan to report for the Senate when he was only 14 years old, and he has had lull charge of the Senate reports since 1869.'' He told me one day that speaking in the United States Senate was increasing in speed. "Webster," said he, "was a very slow talker, and he did not average over 100 words a minute. He dealt in rounded periods, and was not a hard man to report. Henry Clay rolled out about 150 words to the minute, and Calhoun start ed slowly, but roused up as he went on, and he frequently spoke as fast as Mr. Clay. Jefferson Davis was one of the fine speakers ot the past, abounding in classical allusions, and one of the fastest speakers I have ever known was Sargent, of California, who once spoke for two hours, and averaged 200 words per minute during the whole time. "There was a debate here some years agoon the District of Columbia bonds which lasted about four hours and which by actual calcu lation averaged between 190 and 200 words per minute. The average of speaking in the Senate to-day is not, I think, over 150 words per minute. The late Senator Beck was a very last speaker and he frequently wilted his shirt collar with the perspiration of his earnestness. One of the most curious speeches I ever heard was that ot John Bell, of Tennessee, who roared out his sentiments with all the eloquence and earnestness of a revivalist preacher notwithstanding that the President of the Senate, himself and I were tne only persons in the chamber. It was a night session and all the rest of the Sena tors had gone to the cloakrooms. Bell tore the air and preached away as though 50,000 people were listening to him. The perspira tion rolled down his face. He tore off his collar, and though the temperature was at 70, he thrashed himself into a frenzy ot ex citement It was very funny." OTHEE SENATE SPEAKERS. Blackburn, of Kentucky, is one of the fastest speakers of the Senate. He trot excited and rolls out his words at the rate of 200 per minute. Ingalls talks more de liberately and Sherman does not speak over 150 words per minute. Senator Hawley is another fast speaker. He speaks 200 words in 60 seconds and only the best of reporters can follow him. Senator Plumb moves his jaws with the same speed that he does his right arm in gestures, and he is another 200 word speaker. The reporters do not like him. SenatorMorgan speaks very deliber ately and he is good for an hour any time he takes the floor. Kenna is a good talker aud Cullora is not a hard man to report Anthony Higgins, of Delaware, articulates every syllable, and Frank Hiscock, of New York, sponts out his words like a school boy delivering an oration. George F. Hoar talks at times very fast, but his speeches are usually deliberate. Edmunds has a very free delivery and Joe Brown, of Georgia, speaks as though his tongue was run by machinery and could go no faster or no slower than it does. John C. Spooner at times reaches 200 words. Leland Standlord talks slowly. Stewart, of Ne vada, averages 175 words and George Vest oltcn rises to 200. Evarts gives out his 400 word sentences at about 160 words per minute. He is never in a hurry and his mind is so clear that his words comes regu larly. Blair talks for nours and at the same even rate of speed. Allison speaks in the same suave manner that he acts, and Zeb Vance, of North Carolina, though he usually talks at the rate of two words to the second,, often rises to three nnrt fr.nr,ti., t re words. Quay doesn't talk at all. With all of these speakers Dennis F. Murphy is at home and the fastest of them do not phase him. r AN IBISH-AMERICAN. Dennis F. Murphy does not weigh more than 125 pounds. He is a pleasant-faced, brown-whiskered, slightly built man of 60 years of ace. He was born in Cork, but he has lost all his Irish brogue since he came here, and he is an American in the fullest sense. He revises all the manuscript before it goes to the printers, and he works regu larly in the Senate. He has a brother who is as good a reporter as he is, and who is one of the lew men who can read his notes. His assistants are all hich-nriced mm. and all have been connected with the Senate for I I years. The irost of them use .the grapho phone and the typewriter, and one of the busiest place in the Capitol is the big room off the east platform of the Senate where this transcribing is done. There is probably no city in the' United States which has so many stenographers in proportion to its population as Washing ton. There is scarcely a man in public life who has not a stenographio secretary who accompanies him on all occasions, and this custom has grown up within the past 20 years. Senators Seward and Sumner were among the first to bring shorthand to their aid in their work, and since that time the practice has grown like Jonah's gourd. Now every Senator has a shorthand clerk, who is paid by the Government and nearly every member of the House has to employ one to keep up with his correspondence. Wilson, of Washington State, 'one of the new Congressmen, told me yesterday that be had received 1,000 letters within' the past three months, and Senator Manderson re ceives on an average of 100 letters a day. "WHAT INGALLS SPEECH BROUGHT. During the week alter his great speech, about a month ago. Senator Ingalls re ceived 1,000 letters bv actual count, and there is not a Western Senator who is not kept busy for two hours every day in an swering letters. The Eastern Congressman have less correspondence, but it is impossi ble for a man to attend to public affairs and do all his own letter writing. The clerks of the committees of Congress get $G a day, and they are expected to attend to the cor respondence ot the chairmen of the commit tees as well. Senator Stanford is said to give his private secretary his whole salary, but not a few Senators employ their wives,, their sisters, their cousins or their aunts as private secretaries, and have their real work done by the cheap shorthand men with whome the Capitol abounds. President Harrison's stenographer gets 51,800 a year, and his private secretary, Mr. Halford, gets 53,500. The shorthand man of the Bureau of Engraving and Printing re ceives $1,600 annually, and the fattest of the House committeeships are worth 52,200 a year. All the heads of departments have stenographers. Every bureau officer has his shorthand man, and there is scarcely a room among the thousands in the great Govern ment departments which has notone or more stenographers connected with it The steno graphic work of Washington outside the Government departments is very great. There are several thousand stenographers and typewriters who do business for lawyers, claim agents and others. Many of these men and women have their own offices and their assistants, and the court reporters here receive from 25 to 35 cents a folio. THET MAKE BIG MONET. They make a great deal of money in big cases and there have been trials here which have paid the reporters 520,000 apiece. Many of the most expert typewriters of the United States are here and" therg is a little black-eyed fellow who now acts as secretary for Mr. Bobert l'acke, the General Passen ger Agent for the Pennsylvania Bailroad Company here, who can take down 70 words a minute on his caligraph, and I have my self dictated to him at the rate of 3,000 words per hour. He takes the dictations directly on the typewriter and you get your copy as fast as you dictate the words. Many of the newspaper men ot Washington use shorthand amanuenses and hardly one of tbem now writes his correspondence out with a pen. He either dictates to the gra phophone, to a typewriter or to a stenog rapher, or manipulates the typewriter him self, composing as he goes alone and rat tling out his thoughts upon the kevs. And still the demand for stenographers in Washington is on the increase. Every month or two the Civil Service Commission advertises, for new stenographers and type writers, and the business colleges of the capital are turning out hundreds every month. Good men never lack work, but the efficient private secretary embraces many more qualifications than' the mere taking down ot words from another man's mouth. The best of the private secretaries here have on an average as much sense as their masters. They must, if they serve a Senator or Bepresentative, know all about the de partments and be able to look up a pension case or a land claim, to compose a letter or to draft a bill. Not a few of them look up the materials for their speeches, and some EVEN WBITE THE SPEECHES themselves. Many public men dictate their speeches to their stenographers beiore they deliver them, and the stenographer is sup posed to put on the finishing touches and to give back the complete oration in type writing to his Senator. Most of the bureau officers do not answer the most of their correspondence themselves. A chief will take a letter and tell his private secretary to write a nice re ply refusing or granting a request, and the man is supposed to be able to put this in ship-shape form so that the chief will not be ashamed of it. ' Certain classes of letters never meet the public man s eye. The sec retary understands, by experience, what is to be done with the case and he answers it himself. In this way the private secretary becomes a very important man at Washington, and the office of Private Secretary to the Presi dent is fully as important as that of any of tne uaDinct .Ministers, uavia Davis nsed to say that the salary of this place ought to be at least 7,000 a year, as the man was practically the executive officer of the Presi dent, and in many cases did as much work as he did. Colonel Lamont was worth more to President Cleveland than any of his Cab inet officers, and Colonel Halford does to day fully as much work as any man con nected with the administration. The Pri vate Secretary to the President must be on call at all times, and heis liable to beroused from his bed at midnight to counsel with the President in regard to some important dispatch or diplomaticoccurrence which re quires an immediate answer. Feank G. Cabpentee. BENT OF BUSINESS BOOKS. Rates In Philadelphia Top the Pittsbnrc Rales by a Good Deal. Philadelphia Times. I I had occasion the other day to make in quiries concerning renting rooms for busi ness purposes and was astonished to find that no matter how high one went in some of the new and magnificent structures lately erected by various companies the rents were higher still. I could find nothing under $350 or $400 a year aud that for only one room. In fact in several buildings I was told that they had nothing under $700 and felt no anxiety about securing a tenant But in these days when so much is demanded by tenants such as stationary washstands, elec tric lights, messenger calls, etc., the rents have to be placed high, i TEEATHfG B0Q BITES. A Novel Flan That U n Little Hard on the Fowl Creation. St Louis Globe-Democrat A good thing to do for a mad dog bite is to fill the wound with powder and touch it off. Then drink whisky. This meets snake bites, too. An efficacious and aboriginal plan is to procure half a dozen young live fowls, cut the skin from the side of one, and put the raw spot against the bitten part In a few minutes take another fowl and use it in the same way. Pour will usually die, the fifth will get giddy, but hot die, and the sixth may not be needed. Such a treatment for dog bites is handier than, aud as reliable as, the madstone. A alnn to Avoid. Bostonlin.J Gilroy There's Snodrrass across the street let's go over. . Larkin No, thanks. Gilroy Why, I thought you were friends. Larkin So we' are, but Snodgrass lives in the country now. and I don't care to hear anythii-g tbout his garden to-day. - V . .v-- - FLOWING WITH FUN. Pens of Prominent Paragraphers Plied for Public Pleasure. LIVISG LINES ON LOYB AND LOBE. Amusing Anecdotes, Penetrating Philoso phy, Distracting Dialect. TIPE two Points of View L The sky shet down jest like , the roof thot kive'rs up a hearse. ,Vn' mo a useless, Ilvln' corpse in a berrld UDlverse; riio clouds were jest like strips er crape; the win's were wails er woe, An' all creation bed the dumps w'en SaUle tol me "Nor W'y, thet one word fum thet one gal It made the sun turn black, J lls'ened for the crack er doom an' thought I'd hear her crack: The win's jest boo-hooed through the trees, an' I I felt so mean X thought a lust-class funeral 'nd liven up the scene. I felt so streaktd an' so blue, an' life wuz seen afiz. 'At 1 kneeled down an prayed an' prayed to her the roomatiz: Fer roomatiz is happiness beside the orfnl ache Thet soaks through all yer systim w'en yer heart begins to break. An' tben the snn an' moon went down, I tnongnt 'twuz tneir last trip. The mighty Han' thet hoi's the worl' It jest let go its grip: Like xhe chap thet called to Gallagher, I cried out, '"Let 'er got" Tho bull roun' worl' dropped into night w'en 6ally tol' me "No." IL The sky wuz 'like a weddin' ring that went aroun' the worl', The sun wnz like a dimon' pin on the buzzum uv a girl; The win's went flddlin' through the grass an' struck the wilderness As a feller strikes a tambourine, w'en Bailie tol' me "Yes." I thought the worl' a paradise, all tree fum shame an' sin, An' me a burnin' seraph an' the angel Ga briel's twin; My lips wuz like a laffln brook thet on'y hez to flow Through tiger-lily medders where the pussy willers grow. An I thought 'twould flow forever, flow for ever, jest like this. Till it struck the mighty oshun uv everlastin' bliss; I felt thet heaven had come on earth an' wouldn' go on agin I An'Natur' nothin' else to do but jest lay back an' grin. A flower path to the end er time stretched way "The mornin' tars they sa.b'g" 'together anI, 3 meu in me cnorus; , . The mighty-Han' thet hors the worl' I felt Its gentle press I knew the universe was safe w'en SaUle tol me "Yes." a W. Fobs. Sweet. A LEADING QUESTION. Sam Johnsing (who, thanks to bis law yer, has just been acquitted of robbing a smokehouse) I'se mighty obleeged ter yer ter gittin' me outer dis scrape. Lawyer How about my fees? Johnsing r hain't got no money, boss, but how is yer off fer bacon? BUT HIS HABITS WEEK LOOSE. "Mr. Bapid acts very queerly of late. I'm afraid there is a screw loose some where." "I can't imagine where. He is usually tight all over." Alex E. Sweet. The Jnnsfran. Out of her mist veils, virgin fair, Tho JunEfran towered in the Alpine air; While they from the rustic bridge, below, Admired her beauty of sun and snow. "When shall you leaver" His friend in quired. "Well," he said, "my time's expired "I ought to have gone last week, yet still I seem to linger, against my will; "I can't see why It Is really queer, But I think the Jnngfrau keeps me here." Then, suddenly turning, at bowed and blushed His tourist cap to his bosom crushed As a German maiden, with eyes of blue. Walked by them, bowing and blushing too. And, after her form the young man gazed. While one of them said, with eyebrows raised; "My boy, to me It is distinctly clear That the Jnngfrau' means to keep you here. MADELINE S. BBTDQKS. Folk's Jokc. WILLIE A SAD SEA-SOO. "I see somebody has introduced a bill in Congress to prevent this ocean racing: Good idea. "Yes hardly a week passes that the record is not cut down." "What is the record now?" "Well, Willie Fourhundred took a sohooner this morning and already he's half seas over." A NEEDLE-LESS EXPLANATION. "Ah, my sirenl" said the dreamy looking young man, as he toyed with the silk with which she was working a pink bird on a yellow slipper, "do you know what it was that first drew me to you?" Of course she didn't! "It was your eyes your beautiful, be wildering eyes. Thereissomethingin their mystical, fathomless depths that holds me, little one, as the needle is heldbythePole." "A case of hooks-and-eyes?" she asked, as she threaded a green bug in the blue bill of the pink bird. Polk Swaips. A Slother Gooselct. NDTKTEEXTH CENTUBT BOYS AnDJJIBLS. "Bovs and srirlL com. nnt tn ni&T.L-'.? . , ,,., TIT1LLATI5G TEIPLES PDT IH tmnts roz tiix pisrATcn.1 I vui rVMlLS XX7J miffiPK iintmi GH.M NHK i 'nmm I MtflpiJP 1 1 imdr sl ' Jk lev The moon is shining bright as day." "Oh I no. Indeed, dear sir, we shan't We much prefer peruslngKant, To spend a quiet, restful hour With Hoffmann and with Scnopenhaner." John Kendeick Bangs. And on Time, Too. "Why do you call this night train The Tramp? " asked the cross passenger, who was mad because he had lost his ticket, over paid the hnckman, got an upper berth, and broke the handle off his umbrella. "Because," replied Ganymede, the train boy, for it was he, "it goes through without change." And while the convict in upper four played a breezy nocturne with his nose, the tall thin passenger, much pleased, bought a box of fresh kiln-dried Smyrna figi of the boy, saying he had promised to bring the children home a set of jack stones, but had forgotten all about it until he heard the rattle of these delicious bivalves as the boy passed by. The use of this expression, coupled with the fadt that the tall thin passenger went clear down to the wood box to pay his fare, and did so with an 'air of great mys tery and a diplomatic and telephonic dis cussion conducted in whispers on his part and a loud, harsh utterance on the part of the conductor, led to the suspicion that the the tall thin passenger edited a weekly paper to fill a long felt want. Bobert J. Btjedette. Let Out a Reef. "By John Henderson, you are getting tremendously stout." "Yes. I'm thinking of making a corpor ation of myself." "Good idea; you're started well. Ton must have let out that stitch in your side you complained of the other day." Caeltle Smith. Their Wooden Wedding. "Let's see; yesterday was Robinson's wooden wedding anniversary, wasn't it?" "Yes." "Wonder if anybody went around?" "Yes; I went around in the evening." "Anything going on." "You betl Mrs. Bobiusou had just broken a mop-stick to pieces over Bobinson's head. The floor was all littered up with his whittlings. Somebody had tipped the wood-box over. The cat was cavorting around with a clothes-pin on her tail. The children were playiug see-saw with the bread board, and the baby was eating a box ot matches. I came to the conclusion that the Bobinsons were fully able to celebrate their own wooden wedding, and that I had better give the lemon-squeezer I bought for them to my wife." Paul Pastkoe. A Bleltlne Talc. Where the days are piping hot In the heart of Africay, Lived a little Hottentot In his simple, artless way; There he wooed a merry maid Who was full of happy fun. Though 'twas ninety lu the shade Aud two hundred in the sun. Of her frizzy, kinky locks The little maid was prond; And she had a toilet-box Which used to murmur loud; Of monkey-grease pomade The toilet-box was full And the dusky little jade Would rub it on her wool. Bnt alasl one fatal day Tbevleft the palm-tree's shade That Hottentot so gay And the merry little maid; And the blistering, burning sun Oh their kinky heads shone fnll, Till it focussed on the one With pomade upon her wool. Then that maiden slowlyf rled On the sands of Africay, And in agony she died In most heartrending way. w And here and there a stain That leads toward the shade Is all that doth remain Of that foolish little maid. Sam T. CLOVES. Pellets From Tarlona Pestles. There is always room at the bottom of the soup. Among public speakers it is notable that those who lose their heads usually keep their feet. Pepper and salt are the best seasoning for oysters. The summer season doesn't do oysters much good. It takes a woman two seconds to make up her mind, and four hours to make up her toilet A young man who was recently expelled from a social organization is said to have observed that he never before realized how much force there is a "club-foot." A BEE IK A FLO WEB. The Plet are In an Orchid Found In Monnt- nlnoa Parti of England. Harper's Bazar. These lines, written years ago, refer to a species of orchid which may be found in the mountainous parts of Lincolnshire aud Kent, England: "I sought the Living Bee to And, And f onnd the picture of a Bee." A traveler has said that "nature has formed a bee apparently feeding in the heart of the flower, and with such exactness as makes it impossible to distinguish the imposition." Another, writing of the bee orchid, adds, "Their resemblance to these insects, when in full bloom, is the most perfect conceiv able." There is mention also of a fly orchid, a plant equally curious, and both these pecu liar growths become very, fascinating stud ies to all lovers of flowers. Dahomey' Faith In HI Fighters. Detroit Free Fress. The King of Dahomey had for years be lieved that one of his warriors could whip seven white men. When one Frenchman began to lick nine of his fighters, the King slowly realized that he was J'off," and he also "offed" the heads of several of his gen erals for consolation. 'JV0 TPanrnt Tintnf thi?TTnm. , - fej''''' vw )-. .,," i -- IXBrmar fok the-dispatch. SYNOPSIS OP PRECEDING CHAPTERS. The leading characters of the story are Geoffrey Bingham, a London banister, and Beatrice Granger, daughter of the rector of Bryngelly, on the Welsh coast, and village school teacher. Geoffrey is married to a titled woman. Lady Honoria, who married him for an expected fortune that did not materialize. She fretted at poverty and made life generally miserable for Geoffrey dnring his early struggles. They hare a daughter, Effle, a child oC sweetest disposition. While outing at Bryngelly. Geoffrey is rescued from drowning by Beatrice. In spite of themselves this Incident developed Into deep affection. Lady Honoria is not slow to see it, and this makes mat ters worse between her and Geoffrey. Beatrice has a sister, Elizabeth. The family is poor and Elizabeth is ambitions to become the wife of 'Squire Owen Davles. who Is rich, but stupid. He is madly In love with Beatrice, finally proposes toner. Is rejected, but continues to annoy her with his attentions. During Geoffrey's stay at Bryngelly he receives a brief la a celebrated law case. Beatrice reads it and hits npon the right theory of the case. Geoffrey returns to London, tries the case on Beatrice's theory and wins a great victory. It Is his key to fortune. Henceforth money rolls in to him. He gratifies Lady Honorla's every whim. Finally he is elected to Parliament, where he soon distinguishes himself. The poverty of the Granger family becomes serious. Beatrice gives up her salary to her father, but it is not sufficient. Mr. Granger must borrow. Scheming Elizabeth takes advantago of this fact to compromise Beatrice in The eves of Owen Davies. She sends her father to Geoffrey Bingham, who not only gives hint 200. but agrees to visit Bryngelly. Before leaving home Lady Honoria charges Geoffrey with his tender ness for the pretty school teacher. He meets Beatrice unexpectedly, and on the Impulse of the moment conresses to ner sne is tne oniy woman wno can properly sympatmze wren Dim. mat night Geoffrey cannot sleep, and is startled at last by Beatrice who in a somnambulistic state walks to his room, awakes and, realizing the situation, swoons away. The crash of the doors awakes both Elizabeth and Mr. Granger. Geoffrey starts to carry the inanimate form of Beatrice to her room and narrowly escapes being discovered by Mr. Granger, who is up to see what caused the noise. As Geoffrey enters with his precious burden Elizabeth appears to sleep, bnt in reality is alert to every move. Geoffrey returns to London, and Elizabeth, In order to ex plode the whole matter, write an anonymous letter, reciting the events of the night, to Lady Honoria. She charges Geoffrey with unfaithfulness and threatens to begin action for a separa tion. She also writes to Beatrice, telling her if she lores Geoffrey to instantly put an end to their friendly relations. Geoffrey also Writes to Beatrice, asking her to fly with him and Effle to Amer ica. Beatrice replies: "No. dear Geoffrey. Thinea must take tneir course." Owen Davies, half crazed by love, again asks Beatrice to be his wife, this time in the presence of Mr. Granger and Elizabeth. Of coarse, Beatrice refuses Owen's proposal. Elizabeth blurts out the story of the night adventure. Beatrice denies any wrong and tells the whole truth. Her father, even, can not accept her explanation. Beatrice leaves for London anl takes a last look at Geoffrey. She almost touches him on the street, bnt her disguise is perfect She returns to Bryngelly, gets Into her canoe, rows far out into the breakers and, as the sun is sinking, Beatrice sinks to rest the name of Geoffrey upon her lips. 4 CHAPTER XXIX. A WOMAN'S LAST WOED. Geoffrey came down to breakfast about 11 o'clock on the morning of that day the first hours of which he had spent at Euston sta tion. Not seeing Effie, he asked Lady Hon oria where she was, and was informed that Anne, the French bonne, said that the child was not well, and that she had kept her in bed to breakfast "Do you mean to say that you have not been up to see what is the matter with her?" asked Geoffrey. "No, not yet," answered his wife. 'I have had the dressmaker here with my new dress for the Duchess' ball to-morrow; it's lovely, but I think that there is a little too much ot the creamy lace about it With an exclamation of impatience, Geoffrey rose and went upstairs. He found Effie tossing about in bed, her face flushed, her eyes wide open and her little hands quite hot. "Send ior the doctor at once," he said. The doctor came and examined the child, asking her if she had wet her feet lately. "Yes, I did, two days ago," she answered. "But Anne did say that they would soon get dry, it I held them to the fire, because my other boots were not clean. Oh, my head does ache, daddie." "Ah," said the doctor, and then covering the child up took Geoffrey aside and tola him that his daughter had got'a mild attack of inflammation of the lungs. There was no cause for anxiety, only she must be looked after and guarded from chills. Geoffrey asked if he should get a trained nurse. "Oh, no," said the doctor. "I do not think it is necessary, at any rate at present. I will tell the nurse what to do, and doubt less your wife will keep an eye on her." So Anne was called up, and vowed that she would guard the cherished child like the apple ot her eye. Indeed, no, the boots were not wet there was a little, a very, very little mud on them, that was all. "Well, don't talk so much, but see that you attend to her properly," said Geoffrey, leeling rather doubtful, for he did not trust Anne. However, he thought he would see himself that there was no neglect When i she heard what was the matter. Lady Ho noria was much put out "Really," she said, "children are the most vexatious creatures in the world. The idea of her getting inflammation o! the lungs in this unprovoked fashion. The end of it will be that I shall not be able to go to the Duchess ball to-morrow night, and she was so kind about it, she made quite a point of my coming. Beside I have Dought that lovely new dress on purpose. I should never have dreamed of going to so much expense for anything else. "Don't trouble yourself," said Geoffrey. "The House does not sit to-morrow; I will look alter her. Unless Effie dies in the in terval, you will certainly be able to go to the ball." "Dies what nonsensel The doctor says that it is a veryslight attack. Why should she Bie?" "I am sure I hope that there is no fear ot anything of the sort, Honoria. Only she must be properly looked after. I do not trust this woman Anne. I have half a mind to get in a trained nurse after all," "Well, if you do, she will have to sleep out of the house, that's all. Amelia (Lady Garsington) is coming up. to-night, and I must have somewhere to put her maid, and there is no room for another bed in Effie's room. 'Oh, very well, very well," said Geof frey. "I dare say that it will be all right, but if Effie gets any worse, you will please under stand that room must'be made." .But Effie did not get worse. She remained much about the same. Geoffrey sat at home all day; fortunately he had not to go to conrt, and employed himself in reading kaSnTa A Tinnf H n'rtlrttlr rm want 4avv Am briefs. Abont 6 o clock he went down to the House, and having dined very simply and quietly, took his Seat and listened to some dreary talk which was being carried on for the benefit of the reporters, about the adoption of the Welsh language in the law courts of Wales. Suddenly he became aware of a most ex traordinary sense of oppression. An inde finable dread took hold of him, his very soul was filled with terrible apprehensions and alarm. Something dreadful seemed to knocE at the portals of his sense, a horror that he could not gras'p. His mind was confused, but little by little it grew clearer, and he began to understand that a danger threat ened Beatrice, that she was in great peril. He was sure of it. Her agonized dying cries reached him where he was, though in no form winch he conld understand; once I more ner thought beat on bis thought once more aud for the last time her spirit spoke to his. Then suddenly a cold wind seemed to breathe upon his face and lift his hair, and everything was gone. His mind was as it had been; again he heard the dreary orator and saw the members slipping awav to din ner. The conditions that disturbed him had passed, things were as they had been. Nor was this strangel For the link was broken. Beatrice was dead. She had passed into tne domains ot impenetrable silence. Geoffrey sat up with a gasp, and as he did so a letter was placed in his hand. It was addressed in Beatrice's handwriting and bore the Chester postmark. A chill fear seized him. What did it contain? He hur ried with it into a private room and opened it It was dated from Bryngelly ou the previous Sunday and had several incis ures. "My dearest Geoffrey," it began, "Ihave never before addressed you thus on paper. nor should I dc. so now, knowing to what risks such written words might put you, were it not that occasions may arise (as in this case) which seem to justify the risk. For when all things are ended between a man and a woman who are to each other what we have been, then it is well that the one who goes should speak plainly beiore speech becomes impossible, if only that the one who is left should not misunderstand that which has been done. "Geoffrey, it is probable it is almost cer tain that before your eyes read these words I shall be where in the body they can never see me more. I write to you from the brink of the grave. When you read, it will have closed over me. "Geoffrey, I shall be dead. "I received your dear letter (it is de stroyed now) in which you expressed a wish that I should come away with you to some other country, and I answered it in eight brief words. I dared not trust myself to write more, nor had I anv limp. TTntr could you think that I should ever accept such an offer for my own sake, when to do so would have been to ruin you? Bnt first I will tell you all that has happened here." (Here followed a long and exact descrip tion of thoseevents with which we are al ready acquainted, including the denuncia- OEOFFEET BEADS tion of Beatrice by her sister, the threats of Owen Davies as regards himself, and the uusuin niucu sne naa aaoptea to gain. hllUV.J Further." the letter rontfnnprf "T in close your wife's letter to me.. And here I wish to state that I have not one word to say against Lady Honoria or her letter. I think that she was perfectly justified in writing as she did, for, after all, dear Geof frey, you are her husband, and in loving eacu oiuer we nave ouenaed against her. She tells me truly that it is my duty to make all further communication between us im possible. There is only one way to do this and I take it "And now I have spoken enough about myself, nor do I wish to enter into details that could only 'give you pain. There will be no scandal, dear, and if any word should be raised against you after I have gone, I have provided an answer in the second let ter, which I have inclosed. You can print it if necessary; it will be a sufficient reply to any talk. Nobody after reading it can believe that you were in any way connected wua me accident wnicn win nappen. .Dear. one word more still about myself, you seel Do not blame yourself in this matter for you are not to blame; of my own free will I do it, because in the extremity ot the cir cumstances I think it best that one should go and the other be saved, rather than that both should be involved in a common ruin. "Dear, do you remember how in that strange vision of mine I dreamed that you came and touched me ou the breast and showed me light? So it has come to pass, for you have given me love that is light; and now in death I shall seek lor wisdom. r And this being fulfilled, shall not the rest be fulfilled in season? Shall I not sit in those clondy balls 'till I see you come to seek me, the word of wisdom ou your lips? And since I cannot have you to myself, and be all in all to you, why I am glad to go. For here on the world is neither rest nor happiness; as in, mv dream, too often does 'Hope seem to rend her starry robes.' "I am glad to go from such a world, in which but one happy thing has found me the blessing of your love. I am worn out with the weariness and struggle, and now that I have lost you I long for rest I do not know if I sin "in what I do; if so, may I be forgiven. If forgiveness is impossible, so be it Yon will forgive me. Geoffrey, and you will always laye me, however wicked I may be; even if at the last you go where I am- not yon will remember and love the erring woman to whom, being so little, you tilt wMi all In 11 TXTa a . ... .-J Geoffrey, according to, the, customs ot the world, but two short days from hence I shall celebrate a service that is greater and mors solemn than any of the earth. For Death will be the priest and that oath which I shall take will be to all eternity. Who can prophesy of that whereof man has no sure knowledge? Yet I do believe that in a time to come we shall once more look in each other's eyes and kiss' each other's lips and be one for evermore. If this is so, it is worth while to have lived and died; if not, then, Geoffrey, farewell! "If I may I will always be near you. Listen to the night wind, it shall be my voice; look on the stais, they will be my eyes, and my love shall be as the air you breathe. And when at last the end comes, remember me, for if I live at all I shall be near you then. What have I more to say? So much, my dear, that words cannot con vey it. Let it be unsaid; but whenever you hear or read that which is beautiful and tender, think This is what Beatrice would have said to me and could notl' "You will be a great man, dear, the fore most, or one of the foremost, of your age. You have alreadypromised me to persevere to this end; I will not ask you to promise atresh. Do not be content to accept the world as women must. Great men do not accept the world; they reform it and you . are of their number. And when you are great you will always use your power, not ior sen-interest Dnt to large and worthy ends, yon will nlways strive to help the poor, to break down oppression from those who have to bear it, and to advance the honor of your country. Yon will do all this' from your own heart and not because I asc if of you, bnt remember that your fame will be my best monument though none shall ever know the grave it covers. "Farewell, farewell, farewell 1 Ob, Geof frey, my darling, to whom I have never been a wife, to whom I am more than any wife do not forget me in the long years that are to come. Do not forget me when others flatter you and try to win your love, for none can be to you what I have been none can ever love you more than that lost Beatrice who writes those heavy words to night, and who will pass away blessing you with her last breath, to await you, if she may, in the land to which your feet also draw daily on." Then came a tear-stained postcript in pen cil, dated Paddington Station on that very morning. "I journeyed to London to see you, Geof rey. I could not die without looking on your face once more. I was in the gallery oi tne Mouse ana neara your great speech. Your friend found me a place. Afterward I touched your coat as you passed by the pillar of the gateway. Then I ran away be cause I saw your friend turn and look at me. I shall kiss this letter just here beiore I close it kiss it there too it is our last cold embrace. Before the end I shall put on the ring you gave me on my hand I mean. I have always worn it upon my breast When I touched you as you passed through the gateway I thought that I should have broken down and called to you but I found strength not to do so. My heart is breaking and my eyes are blind with tears. I can write no more. I have no more to say. Now once again, good-by. -4re atque vale oh, mv lovel B." The second letter was a dummy. That is N to say, it purported to be such an epistle as any young lady might have written to agen leman friend. It began, "Dear Mr. Bing ham," and ended, "Yours sincerely, Bea trice Granger;" was filled with chit-chat and expressed hopes that he would be able to come down to Bryngelly again later iu the summer, when they would have soma canoeing. It was obvious, thought Beatrice, that if BEATEICE'S LETTER. Geoffrey was accused by Owen Davies or anybody else of baying had anything to do with her mysterious end, the production of such a frank epistle, written two days pre viously, would demonstrate the absurdity of the idea. Poor Beatrice, she wai full of precautions! Let him who may imagine the effect pro duced upon Geoffrey by this heartrending and astounding epistle! Could Beatrice have seen his face when he had finished reading it she would never have committed suicide. In a minute it became like that of an old man. As the whole truth sank into his mind, such an agony of horror, of remorse, ot unavailing woe and helplessness swept across his soul that for a moment he thonght his vital forces would give way beneath it, and that he should die. as indeed ia that dark hour he would have rejoiced to do. And of those cowards who hounded her to death, if indeed she was already dead. Ob, he would kill this Owen Davies yes, and Elizabeth, too, were it not that she was a woman; and as for Honoria, he had dona with her. Scandal, what did he care for scandal? If he had his will there should be a scandal, indeed, for he would beat this Owen Davies, this reptile, who did not hesi tate to use a woman's terrors to prosper the lulfilling of his lust yes, and then drag him to the Continent and kill him there. Only vengeance was left to him! Stop, he must not give wav perhaps she was not dead perhaps that horrible presage of evil which had struck him like a storm, was nothing but a dream. Could he tele graph? No, it was .too late; the office at Bryngelly would be closed it was past 8 now. But he could go. There was a train leaving a little after 9 he should be there by 650 to-morrow. And Effie was ill well, surely they could look after her for 21 hours; she was in no danger, and he must go ha couiu not oear in is torturing suspense, un, how had she done the deedl Geoffrey snatched a sheet of piper and tried to write. He could not, his hand shook so. With a groan he rose, and going to the refreshmenfroom swallowed two glasses of brandy one after another. The spirit took effect on him; he could write now. Rapidly he scribbled on a sheet of paper: "I have been called away upon impartant business, and shall probably not be backfill Thursday morning. See that Effie is prop erly attended to. It I am not back you must not go to the Duchess' ball. "Geoppbet Bingham." Then he addressed the letter to Lady Honoris, and dispatched a commissionaire with it. This done he eot into a cab and v bade the cabman drive to Euston a fast u his horse conld go. f To fte continued next &nday. 4 1 i i 4 'J l raSsdSSiSmML tvV y xj Vv
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers